


You're an angel, I'm a demon, but we make a good team

by Fangirlingmanaged



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Castiel is not an angel, Complete AU, Dean is the captain of their team, Fluff, Football | Soccer, Idiots in Love, Little bit of angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, WORLD CUP AU, world cup feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingmanaged/pseuds/Fangirlingmanaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically i was having World Cup feels after it ended and this popped into my head as i lay in my bed late at night. <br/>Castiel is a midfielder and Dean is the captain of the American soccer team the world cup. One cannot function without the other, and while White Demon Winchester is the captain everyone knows he needs Dark Angel Castiel to get their team to the finals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Water and Oil-- We Still Make a Good Mix

_Reporter 1: Here we are once again for one of the most important international competitions. Four years later, teams from all over the world will be facing one another trying to earn the privilege of raising that cup. As of right now, fifty-three teams have been selected to face off on this amazing—_

_Reporter 2: We’re live from Brazil where all fifty three teams have begun training for this world cup. The American team arrived scarce minutes ago, and they all seem to be ready for their first match. Here we are with one of the biggest stars of this team. Sam—_

_“Oh hey! Yeah, yeah, I’m stoked about this. Considering how close I came to not being part of the lining. We’ve fought hard to get here, and I hope—“_

_“Yo, Sammy, stop trying to give a speech, man. We’re here to give it our all, and try to win. That’s all there is to say. Cheers, y’all!”_

_Reporter 2: Well, that was our usual forward approach by Dean Winchester. It seems like the eldest Winchester is aggressive both in the field and out of it. And here comes another of our stars, Castiel we would like to… Well, seems Castiel continues to be the same reserved man that we know. We hope the best to this team, our team!_

They meet every four years for a month. Well, they meet more than that but the other games don’t really count. The road to the World Cup doesn’t require them to continuously meet. And for their teammates and coaches, that seems like a blessing sometimes. It’s not that they hate each other because in some instances it seems like they couldn’t be closer, especially when they’re on the field, but there are times when _they_ seem to want to kill each other.

This is one of those times.

They’re standing in the chute waiting for the ceremonies to start, holding the hands of some random little kids they were entrusted with. Dean is holding the hand of a small little boy, maybe six years old, with floppy brown hair and sparkling eyes that remind the forward of Sammy when he was little. And so, because he’s a sucker for kids and especially those that remind him of his younger brother, he crouches down next to him. The boy turns around like he’s scared out of his mind and like Dean just hung the moon all at the same time. Dean suppresses the chuckle that threatens to escape him and ruffles the kid’s hair but he can’t help but laugh when the kid scrunches up his nose eerily like Sammy used to do.

“Hey, bud, what’s your name?” Dean pitches his voice lower, tries to make it softer, and it seems like it helps the kid.

“Tristan Xavier Williams, sir,” the little boy says in a very clear voice and it sounds a lot like Sam. It’s kind of scary, really.

“Well, hello Tristan. My name is Dean,” Dean tells him and shakes his little hand. Tristan grins.

“I know that!” he giggles. Dean smiles and ruffles his hair again. “You’re the American forward, but you’re not number 10 ‘cause you don’t like it. Your brother is, even though he’s a left midfielder.”

“And who do you like best, Tristan?”

“Uh…” Tristan looks down at his shoes, and his little hand spasms in Dean’s bigger, rougher fingers.

“Dude, you like Sammy better?!” Dean exclaims in an exaggerated tone, and the little boy giggles again. Dean pretends to be crushed, and says in a rejected tone, “But I’m so much better looking.” Tristan full on laughs at that and Dean grins.

“I still like you because you make a lot of goals,” Tristan placated him and Dean throws his head back and laughs.

“Do you want to walk out with me or my brother, Tristan?” Tristan gives him the widest eyes in the world, and Dean has to laugh again. As team Captain, Dean is in front of everyone else but Sammy is not that far behind. Dean calculates he has a few minutes still so he turns around and shouts Sam’s name. The gigantic moose of a brother he has looks up from the kid he’s either soothing or terrorizing, the kid looks scared, and gives Dean a sort of desperate look. “Stop scaring the kids, man. What did you do?”

“Oh, screw you, asshole” Sam tells him and then stares at the kid wide eyed as if afraid of cursing in front of him. The little boy is smaller than Tristan, probably younger too, and Dean feels for him.

“Dude, seriously you’re like a giant,” Dean rolls his eyes at the other little boy, and both him and Tristan laugh. “Here, Tristan wants to ask you something let me talk to…?”

“Danny,” the little boy says shyly and looks at Dean with a small smile. Jackson is between Dean and Sam so he just moves out of the way and lets the brothers stand next to each other. Tristan, for all intents and purposes climbs Sam like a spider monkey while Danny just shies away from them. Dean won’t be having any of that so he reaches down and pulls him up into his arms.

“Hey, Danny, you afraid of Samsquatch?” Dean asks him and his blue eyes lit up at the nickname while he tilts his head. Dean makes the connection immediately and turns to look at another one of his teammates. Castiel is standing behind them holding the hand of a little girl in pigtails, her blond-brown hair shines in the fluorescent lights and he seems to be fascinated with whatever she is telling him. The midfielder seems to feel the gaze on him because he looks up at Dean and gives him a half smile, Dean rises Danny a little on his arms and he knows the other man makes the connection because he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

It’s the first real interaction they’ve had since boarding the plane, both of them go head to head sometimes on how to lead the team. Dean sometimes wants to scream at him and posture about who the captain is, but he knows that he needs Castiel when it comes to strategy. The man is a genius, and vital for the team, but also for Dean’s morale. Castiel might be annoyingly self-righteous sometimes, but he tells Dean off whenever he needs it and comforts him whenever he needs it.

They get called out the next minute, but Dean still doesn’t put Danny down. He knows how to deal with kids, especially shy kids, so he just holds Danny up in his arms and walks out into the field. It’s not technically allowed, but Dean is known for exploiting the grey areas of the rulebook, so he walks out confidently. He keeps making Danny giggle as the ceremonies take place, helps him with the anthem, and then gives him a tight hug as they are separated. He’s sure he’ll probably not see the little man again, but he’s glad he made those ten minutes special for him. It’s no secret that Dean likes kids, and as he turns to Bobby for the flag he’s about to present to the other team, he feels a pat in the back. He turns around and finds Castiel’s face with a smile on it; Dean grins.

He moves towards the center of the field to do the official handshake, awkward photo thing and meet the other captain. They’re playing Portugal today, and the other dude looks ripped and threatening. As they get closer, he gives a predatory smile and shakes Dean’s hand a little too hard. Dean looks behind his back at Sam and cautiously flexes his fingers, making his little brother throw back his head and laugh. He grins as he turns around and shakes with the rest of the officials, exchanges flags and takes the obligatory photo. It’s decided that Dean’s team kicks from left to right for starters, but they won’t be the first to kick.

“Good luck, you’ll need it,” the other player tells him as he thumps him hard in the back. Dean grimaces and goes back to his team. He positions himself on the left of the field and gives Benny, his other forward, a mock salute. Benny pretends to tip a hat to him and turns to look at the opponent, Dean takes a moment, as he always does, to see the rest of his team. He’s never been religious, doesn’t believe in God really, but he still asks anyone who might listen to help them in that match. He catches Cas’s eye from across the field, and the other man gives him a determined nod, Dean gives him a half smile and turns round as the whistle blows.

 

Its minute sixty eight when everything begins to go to shit, and Castiel sees it before the rest of his teammates do. The first hit is innocuous enough, it could be constructed as an accident, and Dean just rolls with it and shakes himself off even though he was just trampled on by three players. He comes to a stop next to where Dean is sitting, catching his breath, and looms over him a little too close.

Dean looks up, one eye closed because of the sweat pouring down his forehead, and chuckles at him. “Cas, dude, personal space,” he tells him good naturally even though he knows the other man won’t alter his behavior. He’ll take one step back, and less than a minute later be invading Dean’s space again. He has stopped minding it.

“Alright?” is all Cas asks him, and Dean just raises an arm to get a hands up. They get a free kick for their troubles, but it’s not developed and so the match continues.

Five minutes later, Castiel is past the middle of the field and sees Dean raise his right arm. He delivers perfectly, but just as Dean is raising his left leg to bring the ball down someone rams into him from behind and he falls forward while the ball goes offside. This one doesn’t get called, and the other team makes their play. Castiel knows he should pull forward and help their defense, but Dean’s still down and he’s clutching at the grass like he wants to rip it out of the earth’s core. Cas waits a few seconds, and then Winchester meets his eyes and seems to deflate; they continue their game as Dean gets up and Castiel goes to aid the defense and steals the ball back. He passes it to Sam, who even though is a defense has the longer legs and thus gets the travels faster, soon they have the ball on the penalty kick and Sam passes it to Benny. Benny, who’s a big bear of a man, seems to know by this time that the other team is going after Dean like he’s freshly baked Momma Winchester pie (they’ve been spending too much time with Dean) so he doesn’t pass it to him but he finds Garth (scrawny, ghostly looking Garth who just squeezes between the regular sized players) right in the danger zone.

Benny has three players on his ass by this time but he’s not fazed, Dean is on his right and is guarded by three people. He gives Benny a hopeless little shrug and Benny cuts his eyes to little Garth; Winchester smirks at him and pretends to go forward. Nobody expects him to pass it to Garth instead of Dean, so they get the best surprise of their lives when Garth’s tiny screams seem to fill the whole stadium. He runs to the corner where the press is, and does this awkward dance which is a mix between the robot and some weird Walkman thing, and the boys exchange a laugh before they go and between Sam and Benny lift him on their shoulders. Everyone starts chanting “Mister Fizzle!” like there’s no tomorrow until the ref has to blow the whistle. It’s the first of three goals that they make, and Gabe on the net doesn’t even finish his candy cane.

 

“You’re sore,” Castiel comments as he goes to sit next to Dean, perhaps a little too close, where he’s sitting shirtless and holding a cold pack to his right shoulder. They’re in the lounge of their floor at the hotel, everyone else is either in their rooms with their guests or at the ground floor enjoying the party. It’s only the two of them, as almost always, but it’s nice. Dean snuggles into the couch cushions and turns his head to look at Cas, he gives him these big puppy eyes like he’s the most innocent thing ever. Castiel stares at them for a while like he doesn’t know what he wants, or like his puppy eyes don’t do anything to him, even though both of them know neither of those things are true. Castiel was quite content in his own room, reading, but he knows Dean’s habits almost as well as his own.

They stare at each other for a while, what their team mates call their “parents kissing awkward” staring, before Castiel sighs. He doesn’t even say anything; he just wiggles his fingers in front of Dean and the other man grins and gives him the cold pack. He throws himself face first, with his torso on Cas’s legs and Cas’s hands on his shoulders.

“Dude, Cas, your hands,” Dean moans at the contact. He doesn’t notice how the man under him stiffens for a few seconds and then clears his throat. He molds his (perfect) fingers around Dean’s shoulders and begins to massage them, he keeps the pack to his right one where he fell and rolled more than usual as he tries to undo the knots there.

“Dean,” Cas begins as he massages down his back. Dean gives him a little hum and burrows closer to the couch cushions. Castiel can’t quite keep his smile off his face as Dean acts like a little boy under his ministrations, and his hand strokes up his back. They’re quite finished now, but neither of them really want to move so they stay like that. “Today was worse.”

“Mm, I know, guys were a bunch of dicks,” Dean tells him. His voice is all slow and garbled, like always after Cas is done massaging him, so the other man knows he’s almost out for the count. They have to think about a solution now before Dean dismisses his concerns.

“Dean, what if—“he doesn’t get to finish before Dean is up and sitting. He throws his head over the back of the couch and sprawls, completely relaxed, and turns to look at Castiel. They have on of their “moments” again.

“Cas, bud, you worry too much. Trust me, I can take it,” he gives him one of his cocky smirks. Castiel isn’t immune to the Winchester charm, but he’s able to resist it under dire circumstances. Dean’s safety is one of those. Yes, he knows how that sounds. He’s well aware of the esteem he has for his friend, whom he hasn’t seen as simply his friend since they were qualified for the tournament and he caught him two days later at the cemetery talking to his Momma. Cas stares down at his hands, he doesn’t want to create a problem between them, but it still scares him what the other teams will try to do to Dean.

It’s not that everyone thinks Dean is their only saving grace because he’s not. In only eight years, they’ve managed to get the American team up to third place in the world ranking; only surpassed by Germany and Ireland who have two very ruthless teams and have managed to crawl from the pit of bad soccer. Dean is their best forward, a late bloomer who didn’t join the professional field until twenty-one because he was trying to get his little brother to fulfill his dream. Their team doesn’t end there, though, as they have Gabe on the net, who looks small and too cocky but doesn’t hesitate to throw his body when needed and seems to flight as the archangel himself when a ball gets dangerously close. Garth, Charlie “The Ginger,” Sammy and Joseph (Jo) who make one of the strongest defenses they’ve ever seen. Then Jackson, Castiel and Chuck in midfield. They aren’t just for show, not just pretty boys to look at though they’ve been referred as such by many. No, Jackson can weasel his way around like no one else, Chuck might look like a twitchy little man but his kicks are legendary at this point and Castiel… well they don’t call him the Dark Angel for nothing. Then there’s Benny, Adam and Dean at the front. Not many people know about Adam because he spends most of his time making assists despite being a forward, but he leaves anyone who gets in his path on their knees and crying. Benny intimidates on size alone, but he has a finesse that lets him put the ball wherever it’s needed. And then, _then_ , there’s Dean Winchester. Dean who even when he’s kicked doesn’t stay down, who manages to maintain control of the ball and put it right where it’s meant to go with either leg. Dean who’s not only determined, but aggressive and purely diabolical when he’s needed. He’s earned his White Demon Winchester title with sweat, blood and tears. He also takes the spotlight away from his teammates so that _he’s_ the one that gets hurt instead of them. It works in some cases because the other team is too distracted with him to pay much mind to anything else, but in cases like today, it makes them all worry not just Cas. Though Castiel is much more involved than the rest.

“Hey, blue-eyes, look at me,” Dean tells him and he has no other choice but to do what he say; he can never deny the Winchester man anything when he talks to him in that tone. He stubbornly clenches his jaw and stares defiantly at him, though. It only makes Dean chuckle. “Cas, dude, this is my job, okay? I’m supposed to lead this team, but I’m also supposed to protect it. If that means dangling in front of a bunch of piranhas for y’all, then that’s what I’m gonna do.” Cas can’t help but chuckle, there are only certain instances when Dean’s accent pops up and he always enjoys it when it does. Dean doesn’t miss his lighter mood and playfully shoves his shoulder while giving him an endearing “Aw-shucks-you-makin’-me-blush” grin.

“Alright, cowboy,” Cas tells him as he heaves off his seat. He’s tired, not only because of the game but also because he worries about the other man. He has to make a plan to protect him, somehow, without him knowing. He doesn’t tell Dean that though so he just cards a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep tight, angel” Dean tells him like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t make Castiel’s heart skip a beat. This is what Winchester would call a “chick-flick moment,” but Cas doesn’t care. If anything, he relishes the instances when Dean allows himself to be vulnerable. He grins at him as he rounds the couch to his room. Surely the pattern of “knock Dean down” won’t continue.

 

They are able to clear into the round of sixteen at the top of their group. Truthfully, while the games were physically exerting at some points they weren’t terribly difficult to manage. Castiel and Dean make a perfect combination, and with assists from Adam and Sam they are able to create magic. They’ve gotten to know the other players very well, Castiel likes the Argentinians quite a lot and Dean has bonded with the Brazilians over, surprisingly, samba music. They haven’t spent much time together, not since that first night to be truthful, but they’re more cohesive on the field. They spend part of their training discussing things with Bobby, Michael and Ellen and sometimes even the Winchester’s father over video chat to create better plays. Castiel hates those calls because Dean is always sour afterwards and locks himself in his room with a bottle of powerade and a Dr. Sexy M.D. marathon.

Today’s game is against Belgium, a relatively strong group led by a guy named Richard Roman (for some reason he likes to go by the name of Dick, Dean has had quite some fun with that one.) they barely managed to scrounge up points to be there, but their team is vicious. They’re called the monsters for their violence and stupidity (Dean prefers to call them Monsters Inc. Backed by Gabriel, of course,) so Castiel is a little worried for their match.

Everything seems to point out to his worries being unfounded, however, as the game progresses without much trouble. Chuck and Garth, because they are the smallest, are rumpled up a little bit and Castiel knows Dean is slightly mad about it. He knows it because he had to get him away from the ref when he got red in the face in anger after one of the Belgians planked Chuck and no penalty was called. Dean is vibrating with tension by the second half, he doesn’t handle it very well when someone else gets hit instead of him. He’s special that way.

It’s minute eighty two, and they’re up by two goals, when the lining in the other team begins to change and Castiel can almost see how this will not be a satisfying win. He sees a player go after Sam first, which immediately bristles him along with Dean, and he knows that was the point. Dean becomes a little sloppier when someone threatens Sam, so he starts to push forward a little. Cas is right there with him, remembering one of their most memorable conversations when they talked about how “the best hit is always the win. If they keep hitting my boys, the best way I know to get back is to embarrass them in the score board.” So that’s what they do, all of them pushing to defend one man. In their elation and adrenaline, however, they forget that the other team might have different tactics.

Minute Eighty-six confirms that when, during a corner kick, Dick Roman clocks Dean on his cheekbone and leaves him crumpled on the ground. Nobody really sees him, so it’s later on when the ref blows his whistle and the Belgians are approaching Gabe’s zone, that everyone sees Dean still in the other penalty box with his hand on his face. Cas squints and that’s when he sees the blood between the other man’s fingers, and he’s running before he knows what’s going on. His heart is beating painfully in his chest, and all he prays is “please, let his eye be okay. Please, please.” He kneels right in front of Dean, he has sat up now, and carefully peels his hand away. There’s an awful lot of blood, but he can still open his eye and there is no bleeding there so Castiel allows himself to calm down.

“That douch—“Dean starts, but Castiel squeezes his calf where he’s still holding onto him and he goes quite. They drag the paramedics in, and they patch up Dean’s face. He grumbles and swears through it while every other player hydrates and waits for the last six minutes of the game. “Still pretty?” Dean asks once they’re both on their feet, his grin is still the same.

Cas huffs a laugh and shakes his head. He starts walking back to his position and hears Dean yell “Hey” behind him. He turns, gives him thumbs up and goes back with a grin that matches Dean. Because he’s angry, well they all are, Dean scores one last goal during minute ninety-one. It doesn’t abate their frustration, but at least it ensures a sour taste to the other team who now gets to pack up and go home.


	2. It Was About Damn Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas. They've waited too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be spelling/continuity errors so please, please if you find them let me know. In a nice way if possible.   
> I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than the other one, but i'm kind of doing it by matches rather than anything else. We still have the semi and finals to go plus whatever they do afterwards. So, yeah.  
> I'm sorry this took so long, but it's here! Hope you don't hate me.

Dean is at the field at four-thirty in the morning two days before the quarter finals match against the Russian team. He wants to get as much practice as they possibly can because he knows how important that game is. He knows that it’s got to be about finesse and speed rather than brute force to move forward. Dean has tried to stress that as much to his team, but he has to lead by example for that. So he’s doing extra training, getting his out of the way really, so that he can help his team later on. He’s so into his kicks to the frame that he doesn’t hear anyone coming in until the raspy, low voice speaks from behind him.

“I thought we agreed on not using mere force, Captain,” Castiel says from behind him. Dean turns around to see him, his hands are occupied turning a ball around, and he has that small smile on his face. A smile that Dean secretly loves, the smile that he fell in love with, but he will never, ever admit to saying in his life.

“I’m working on precision, co-cap,” Dean tells him with a smirk.

“You know there is no such thing as a co-captain, Winchester,” Cas tells him as he throws the ball at him. Dean grins and dives to give it a headshot. Cas catches it easily on his chest, and dribbles it for a little as Dean gets back on his feet. One of them is fresh out of bed, the other has been at it for over an hour and is tired. Dean knows better than to think Cas is cold, though, he knows that Cas would be able to kick ass fresh of a fourteen-hour flight. Cas has seen Dean play with blood running into his lips and a sprained ankle, and still infuse the Winchester wrath into their opponents. They are evenly matched even though they are good in two categories. They mesh together extremely well.

They start out as serious as they can be, but their sparring quickly turns dirty. Dean is the first one to kick at Cas (really, could anything else be expected) and Cas only takes it for a couple minutes before he starts giving back as good as he gets. Their sparring turns into simple playing, and its fine by both of them. It’s something they try to do at least once every week, it helps them keep up with the so called fame of being professional players. It’s not often they get to do this, considering they play on different teams on a regular basis, but whenever they get to do it… it’s perfection. Sometimes, when Dean’s in Cali and he feels like everything’s too much, he feels like calling Cas and telling him to drag his ass back to the States so that they can play together.

It all ends with Cas getting close to one of the goals Dean had set up earlier, and Dean refuses to lose so taking back on his old days as a rookie rugby player, he tackles him. Cas makes a little _off_ sound and they both go down, rolling because of the momentum, until they end up with Dean on the floor and the other man straddling his hips. It’s like everything stops for an eternity as they stare at one another. Cas moves his hands from the grass on either side of Dean’s head to put them against his chest, and splaying his fingers on the muscles he can feel there. Dean, for his part, just looks back into that impossible blue and feels the breath stutter halfway through his lungs. It’s not the first time they’ve been like this, but it certainly feels a lot different than it has before, and neither knows why.

Castiel doesn’t dare move, neither away nor closer, so he just brings a hand up to trace over Dean’s injured cheekbone. Winchester winces a little bit at the contact, but then he relaxes into the touch and even begins to lean into it. Cas smiles because he’s noticed during their massage sessions that Dean is like a cat when it comes to physical attention. He likes to be petted, and scratched and sometimes even tickled. He loves hugging people, even if he’s not as into it as Garth it; Sam has said it’s because he’s been touch-starved for so long. Since their mother’s death, Sam was the one to be taken care of by both Winchester Sr. and Dean himself. Sam got the cuddles, and the petting and hugs and everything in between, not Dean. According to the story, Dean was forced to grow up before he reached six, and it breaks Cas’s heart. So he does the only thing he can to fix it, he pets him and hugs him and soothes him whenever they get together like this. And Dean pretends not to love it.

“Cas,” Dean says quietly as he tries to breathe steadily. Cas just hums in reply and lets his fingers wander closer to Dean’s open mouth as he feels him breath. Dean chuckles a little, rubbing his scratchy cheek into his palm before puckering his lips to kiss at Cas’s finger. “What are we doing?”

It should feel like a bucket of cold water for Castiel. He should spring up from where pressed together and bolt for his room. They should just separate, pretend this never happened, because even though there is no explicit rule preventing them from doing this it doesn’t mean that there won’t be backlash for it. He knows what will happen, knows how the tabloids and the other team will twist this into something ugly. It’s one of the reasons he hasn’t allowed himself to hope for this since way before, but he’s finding himself tire of it. He’s known for quite some time that he finds women and men attractive, though he tends to lean towards the male figure more, and yeah he admits he does tend to check the guys in his home team out sometimes. How could he not, really, they’re amazing specimens of the human form. But he wouldn’t be lying when he says he finds them all lacking because what’s under him is what’s always done it for him. Every time he looks at another person he always finds them missing something. This one doesn’t have freckles, that one’s hair doesn’t shine like golden-copper in the sunlight, that leather jacket is too fit, those jeans aren’t as well worn… it’s always something. He’s always been accused of being asexual, by his teammates and friends and even his siblings, but the truth is that he’s always been Dean-sexual and he’s tired of denying himself that.

“Cas,” Dean tells him again and he forces himself to focus in those green eyes. It’s around five-thirty now, the sun is well on its way up and it does wonderful things for the gold in Dean’s eyes. Their teammates will be getting up soon and coming to the field, so if he’s going to do something he might as well do it now. He figures that if everything goes wrong then he can just go and pretend it never happened, the tournament is almost over, and then it won’t be another four years before they meet again and he could even say no. He bites his lower lip, turning and mulling it in his head, until he hears a tired chuckle from underneath him and there’s a hand on the nape on his neck. “That’s your problem,” Dean tells him and then they’re kissing.

It’s not an explosion of fireworks behind his eyelids (Cas doesn’t really know when he closed them) he doesn’t start crying out of joy (it had been a possible scenario in his brain,) and Dean isn’t aggressive as he thought he might be. Instead, it’s awkward as all hell as Castiel is too shocked to do anything and Dean is raising half his body like some awkward turtle. Then, Cas’s brain comes online and wraps his hands around Dean’s neck and pushes him back into the grass. He kisses him for all he’s worth, and the butterflies in his stomach turn into a wasp nest and the shiver downs his spine is more like tremor and everything is suddenly perfect. This is what he’d been missing, this is what he had been unable to find with Inias and Ariel back in Manchester. _This_ is what he had been hoping to find and he couldn’t be gladder that he’d waited for it.

The moment is broken when they hear cat calls and whistles and pure rambunctious yelling from their teammates. They pull back long enough to stare at them in mock annoyance before they’re back to kissing with matching stupid grins on their faces. It’s not like they thought their teammates would denounce them, but it still feels good to know that they have their support. The only one with a more neutral face is Bobby, and for a moment Dean thinks that he might be told off and rejected for what he’s done but then Bobby pretends to put a finger down his throat and gag at him and Dean grins like a dumbass. “Damn idjit,” the older man tells him as he gets closer and Dean laughs. Cas gets up and pulls him along with him, but doesn’t let his hand go when they’re on their feet; they grin at each other.

  
“This is going to be nauseating,” Jo comments as he starts to put his hair up into a ponytail. Dean grabs him and musses it up before he can, and he gets an elbow in the kidney for his troubles.

Instead of congratulations, they get complaints about how ridiculous they’re going to be from then on. Something about them being bad when they had their heads in their asses, but now they’re probably going to be a thousand times worse. As if to prove that, Cas grabs Dean’s face and plants a filthy kiss on his mouth-they get dogpiled for their efforts.

Two days later they’re both ready to face down their next opponent to the quarter finals. This time, it’s the Italian dudes that no one believed would make it this far. They’re slightly exhausted from having to deal with the new aspect of their relationship—they’d had to talk with representatives and other officials to make sure what they had was accepted. Good thing for them, Ellen was a kickass manager and Bobby was a no nonsense coach so they had the all clear. They agreed to not be extremely public about it, but they decided they wouldn’t try to hide either so it was now a recognized fact.

The one thing that weighted on Dean’s mind was telling his father about it. Knowing John, Dean was one phone call away from getting disowned and trash talked by his own kin. He tried not to let it bother him, but it was still going to hurt. He sighs, and then turns to look to his right where Castiel is changing into his uniform. He has the little cross his father gave him before passing around his neck, and he takes it in his palm and looks at as he does before each game. He’s not religious, Dean knows, but he still tries to have faith in the same deity his father believed in. Looking at him, at him he mouths old words by memory and breathes in and out deliberately, Dean knows that there’s no way that he’s letting John wreck this for him. He’s waited too damn long as is, eight years of playing stupid with his own feelings and screwing around with women while pretending what he wanted wasn’t 5,000 miles away.

Cas turns around from his pre-game small ritual to find Dean staring at him with a sort of dreamy look about him. It’s a look that he’s been getting for the past two months, especially after that first night, and he can’t say he’s used to it yet. He finds himself smiling at random moments of the day, rubbing a hand over his shoulders were Dean had left a mark and just overall sighing like a lovesick schoolgirl. They’re in that pleasant stage of a new relationship, that first week, where they are happy even when the sun doesn’t shine and they’re getting berated by stiff shirts left and right. Cas thought Dean would go along with the plan of keeping their… thing to themselves, when it was suggested, but was pleasantly surprised when Dean vehemently refused. Not only him, but also Bobby and Ellen. They had backed the higher ups into a corner until they agreed.

Dean gives him a wink and turns back to putting his shoes on and hiding Sam’s necklace under his shirt as he always does. He might not believe in a deity, the way Cas and his little silver cross do, but he still believes in something. Sam is one of those things, and now he’s glad he’s one of them as well. He’s thought about the future in the last couple of days, and decided that his time in Manchester might be coming to a very near end. His contract is almost up, looking a twist of faith wanting him to be happy for once, so he has the ability of relocating. With the money he’s made, and the modest income he gets from his father’s will, he could live the rest of his life very happy in some California town. Close to a certain green eyed man with gorgeous lips and a crazy splatter of freckles. He shakes his head at those thoughts, now is not the time for that kind of thinking, the game is their immediate concern.

He stalls putting his shoes on so that all the others go to the hall outside. Everyone knows by now why it’s only Dean and him that stay in the locker room for a little while longer, but Gabriel still feels the need to announce it to the world. “Come on, children, mommy and daddy need a little alone time,” he smirks when Dean throws a wayward candy cane at him and just grabs it and smirks. The others groan at their antics, but smile nonetheless. Cas gets an eyebrow wiggle from Charlie and huffs, half-amused and half-annoyed. He turns serious as soon as they’re alone.

“Zachariah’s playing today,” he says, and he tries to be nonchalant about it but he’s gripping his laces a little too hard for that. He hears a huff from Dean, he’s been doing it for the past two days as Cas reminds him, and moves to kneel in front of Cas. He can’t help it that he’s worried, he knows the history that douchebag and Dean have, and yet Dean dismisses his concerns. He can’t, thought, not after what that asshole Dick Roman did to him in the field. He knows, feels it his gut, that Dean is going to get hurt.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean tells him as he rubs his hands up and down Castiel’s thighs. They’re just looking at each other now, one trying to comfort the other when it’s usually the other way around. Cas bites his lip hard.

“How can you say that? You know as well as I do how much he’s tried to get back at you for his transfer. You know how much he hates you,” Cas’s voice comes out as a growl. Dean tries to keep his face serious, but angry Cas has always made him a little hot under the collar and he can’t help but grin. Cas knows, of course he knows, and he just glares at him and cuffs him in the head. Dean tries to pretend like he’s repentant but it’s not that convincing.

“Angel, listen to me,” he says seriously and grabs Castiel’s face, “he ain’t gonna do anything to me that I can’t take. You know me better than that, man, he ain’t gonna get me. But you can’t be going in there thinkin’ like you need to defend me or somethin’. I need you level-headed, you’re the one that calms me down so I don’t get my dumbass thrown outta the game. We can’t afford that right now, not when we’re so close. Cas, the team needs you. If I wanted brawn and heat, there’s Benny and Sammy and Jo for that. I need _you_ , Cas. You keep me focused, all right?”

Cas wants to say something cutting back, something about him being able to defend Dean just as well as Benny might. But the truth is that everything Dean has said is right. They can’t afford to lose Dean because some asshole has a grudge. Dean might not be as indispensable for their level of soccer, but he _is_ vital for their morale. So Castiel just bites his lip and promises Dean to keep him cool, promises to the Dark Angel everyone thinks of him, and Dean promises to be careful.

“Alright, angel, let’s go kick some ass,” Dean tells him before pulling him to his feet. He wraps his arms around his waist and lifts him off his feet in his enthusiasm. Unable to deny the other man anything, Castiel just wraps his arms around his neck and kisses back.


	3. I'm stupid 'cause I love you, man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's a hard headed bastard. Castiel wishes he could hate that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been so long since an update. I'm so sorry.

_He_ warned _him! He warned the stupid, idiotic assbutt about what could happen during the game. That stupid, gorgeous, stupid idiotic imbecilic moron!_ Castiel paced back and forth in the living room of their floor. He had been told by Gabriel and Sam to sit down about three times, and every time, he almost bit their heads off. If he weren’t so bloody worried, he’d apologize, but as it was his nerves were close to snapping. He couldn’t sit still, he couldn’t breathe properly (which was probably a good thing, because otherwise he’d be able to smell himself,) and he couldn’t feel anything other than rage.

 _Mother-fucking shit! Son of a BITCH!_ The shout comes from Dean’s room, and the whole team jumps where they are. Sam and Gabriel share a worried glance, Jo’s hands close convulsively, and Charlie starts murmuring in Elvish while Bobby wrings his ball cap. It’s not the words that make them all jump, it’s the fact that Dean’s voice is much too close to tears for any of them to be comforted. Chuck mutters something about the room being too stuffy, and rushes out the door. 

Castiel stands there for a little, he can feel his brother looking at him, before he grits his teeth and continues his pacing. The game comes back to him in flashes, after the (frankly) delicious kiss he’d gotten out of Dean in the locker room, they’d all been in pretty high spirits as they walked through the chute and interacted with the kids. Castiel, always the solemn one, had looked on at Dean and the rest of the boys as they made kids giggle. The children on the other team looked fairly miserable, especially the kid forced to be with Zachariah. They had been glared at by the other team the whole time, as Zachariah walked by Dean Castiel could see his man stiffen before he forced himself to front.

They had begun the game on a relatively good note, but as the game progressed it was clear that Dean was like fresh meat for the other team. Not only was Zach, as the forward and captain, on his tail but also the rest of the team. Castiel was left alone for the majority of the game, which he thanked the stars for or Dean might have lost it otherwise. But he was brought down hard at least ten times in the first half. They scored a couple goals that let them pull ahead, but the victory was sour. All they wanted was for the game to end.

By minute seventy-three, the other team began a new tactic, which was what he had been afraid of. The first to get a hit was Charlie, he was brought down by another defense but was left unscathed. Then, they went after Sam, which always riled Dean up like nothing else. Sam had the ball way before mid-field, when he was brought down from behind. Dean saw him go down, and he was on the other player like a dog with a bone.

“The fuck is your problem, man?” by this point Castiel was standing behind Dean with an arm wrapped around Dean’s arm and his other hand on his chest. Dean’s breath was hot and angry on the side of his face, and he was sweating through his shirt. Castiel knew he had to diffuse him or he’d get kicked out.

“Dean, look at me,” he said as quietly as he could. Dean kept spitting curses and angry threats at the other guy, and didn’t seem to hear him. Cas leaned a little closer, and braved himself to whisper in his lover’s ear. “Baby, look at me,” he said quietly; just for the two of us. Dean’s body went limp, and he allowed himself to be taken away.  Cas pushed him backwards until they were out of the angry mob surrounding the ref. He didn’t dare to kiss him right there, he’d discovered lately that it was a good way to wind Winchester down, but he did let his lips rasp against the side of his neck as he pulled away.

“Goddamn it, Cas,” was all Dean said as they pulled away. Castiel shook his head and grabbed the side of his neck with one hand, a little rough, and brought their foreheads together.

“Get your shit together, Sam’s gonna be fine, but you can’t go ‘round punching everyone ‘cause you feel like you need to defend all of us,” Dean scoffed and shook his head. “Baby, you can’t keep all of us safe,” he said quietly.

“The fuck am I supposed to do, then? Let these sons of bitches run through y’all like nothing? Like I ain’t your captain? Am I supposed to wimp out of their shit?” whenever he got like this, Castiel could see his father’s influence on him. As much as Dean tried his very best to be better than his father, the influence of the elder Winchester came out when he was this angry. He was still a better man than John, but he had his moments.

“I ain’t punching you ‘cause I know you’re mad, but you better get your head out of your arse, right now! We can take good care of ourselves, you damn well know that. Now, concentrate and be a good captain, Winchester!” Cas shook him by the neck like a puppy, and the fight when out of the other man. They stared at each other for a while, until Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, alright, sweetheart,” he said quietly and squeezed Cas’s arm. He heaved a heavy sigh, and then pulled back.

“If you lovebirds are done,” Charlie said as he walked by them with a smirk. Castiel blushed and moved away while Dean chuckled under his breath. They tended to get caught up in each other a lot, what could they say? Thank God they’d had the presence of mind to pretend like they were just teammates.

Sam did the honors of free-kicking the ball, a beautiful pass that landed on Benny and made an amazing combination with Dean. He’d pulled forward, into the penalty box, and hadn’t even taken the time to accommodate the ball. No, to make the other team’s humiliation worse, he’d gone for a flashy over the head kick that folded the goalie in half. Demon Winchester full on, he’d managed to get the ball into the upper left corner of the goal; a place that was unreachable no matter how much the goalie tried to get the ball.

As he was running back from the celebration, Castiel caught Dean looking at Zachariah. The other man was red in the face as Dean smirked, and very subtly flipped him the bird. Zach spluttered, and Castiel huffed out a laugh. Those gorgeous green eyes caught Cas’s and he winked; mouthing something that looked like _I love you_ but Castiel wasn’t sure. He was never very good at reading lips.

It was almost laughably surprising when they went after Castiel next. Well, Castiel was surprised. He’d noticed Sam and Dean looking over at him during the difficult plays. Like they were keeping him safe. The game was ten minutes away before they even tried anything, but it was almost brutal. He got caught up between two players and was brought down hard, he’d been covertly elbowed on the side and tripped. He fell and rolled, and laid there for a few seconds. He inconspicuously moved all his limbs, as stupid as it sounded, he didn’t want them to know how injured he was, and was relieved to know that nothing seemed sprained, twisted, or broken.

His relief, however, was short lived when he noticed the commotion around him. Dean was livid, angrier than he’d been about Sam, and had one of the other players by the scruff of his jersey. He was spitting in his anger, and shaking the other player like he wanted to rearrange his organs from the outside. Castiel thought he looked beautiful, all manic anger and sweat, but came out of his stupor when he heard the words kicked out, and for good.

“Dean,” he called out from his place on the floor. Green eyes met blue, and Winchester pushed the other player away roughly. He came by to crouch next to Cas, a hand on his leg, as he looked him in the eye. It was as if he could pull out every dirty secret Cas had through that gaze, which admittedly he probably could. Castiel had never been able to hid anything from Dean.

“Are you hurt?” he said angrily. His nostrils were still flaring, and he was gripping almost painfully onto Cas’s leg.

“Dean, calm—“

“Did. That. Son. Of. A. Bitch. Hurt. You. Castiel?” he said, very deliberately, and tightened his fingers. Castiel nodded minutely, and Dean lowered his head. Chin to chest. Novak wanted, more than anything, to run his fingers through the spikes of dirty blond hair but they were on camera. He couldn’t show that much affection, they were supposed to not be overtly romantic. After a few seconds, the ref said they needed to get back in the game and Dean nodded silently. He gave Cas a hands up, but walked away immediately after.

Castiel watched him worriedly, afraid of Dean’s calmed. It was always like that, whenever they argued or made each other irrationally angry, they projected it through calm. Dean threw things and shouted when he was… miffed, but if he was really pissed off, he shut down. He lowered his head and shuttered his gaze in preparation for his own kind of retribution. Cas’s fears were confirmed when Dean started playing filthy, just downright dirty, but he was smart about it. He was sure to never get caught, and never do it near a penalty box. Castiel winced every time one of the other players was brought down hard by that six-feet-one wall of muscle.

The ref, clearly, lost control of the game the last ten minutes. It was the last corner kick of the game, probably two minutes before the end, when Dean was paid back for the hell he was bringing down on the other team. He and Zachariah went for a headshot of the game, Dean aiming for a last (humiliating) goal, when Zachariah stepped on his leg and used him as a boost up. The studs on his cleats dug into Dean’s leg, Castiel was told later, and almost tore at his skin. Dean fell with a cry of pain, and during the commotion, Zachariah got another hit on him.

____________----

Now Castiel is pacing the hall carpet thin, and he can’t stop biting his lip. He already tastes blood, but Ellen and the med had been in there for so long, it’s making him nervous. Finally, before Castiel can go in there and knock himself, they come out. Dean is still on bed rest, they tell them, but thankfully nothing is damaged. Finally, after a five minute lecture from Ellen and some aftercare instructions from the med, they tell Castiel that Dean has been asking for him.

“Sam? Do you want to…?” Castiel asks, merely out of politeness because he’s anxious to see their captain, and Sam merely gives him a tired smile.

“I better not, he’s probably in a bitch mood. I might end up strangling him,” he gets to his feet. “Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“If I haven’t killed him first,” Castiel says with a tight smile. Sam laughs and walks away; the rest of the team follows after giving their well wishes. Castiel takes a deep breath and sings a mantra of _you can’t kill the gorgeous bastard_ in his head as he walks towards Dean’s room. Even before he opens the door, he hears grunts and curses and bed springs. He lets out the air from his lungs, so he doesn’t have anything to shout with, and pushes the door open.

Dean’s got a dopey smile on his face, and his eyes are at half-mast. Obviously, the med gave him the good stuff for his leg. Even through the haze, though, he knows he’s screwed sideways. He can feel the lecture coming from his boyfriend (hehe, Cas is his boyfriend) so he tries to diffuse him with humor. He winks at him, and then pats the bed next to him. He expects Cas to show some resistance, call him an assbutt and give him a lecture, but Novak just pulls his dirty cleats off at the door and walks over to his bedside. He crawls into bed, he’s stiff and grimy and strung taut as a wire, before he wraps his arms around Dean’s middle.

“I’m alright, sweetheart,” Dean tells him. His voice comes out chocked up, he can’t help it when he sees Cas this miserable. He mentally berates himself for losing his head on the game, but he couldn’t let it slide. He hopes his stupidity of today was warning enough for the other teams to not mess with his lover.

“ _Don’t”_ Castiel whispers fiercely into his chest. Dean’s skin gets wet, and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest. He wants to chalk it up as Castiel’s sweat, he hadn’t changed from the game, but it’s been hours and Dean is not that much of an asshole. He pulls his co-captain (official rules be damned, Castiel is his other half for everything) closer into him and makes soothing noises to calm him down. “Don’t you _ever_ do something so stupid again. Don’t you fucking try to play hero with me, Winchester. I can’t make to the end of this shit without you. I don’t want to.”

“I know, angel, I know. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I lost my head out there. I don’t like to see you hurt, man. I couldn’t let those assholes walk all over you like that. They were asking for it,” Dean tries to justify himself.

Cas just shakes his head and mouths at Dean’s chest. He’s so tired, just sucked dried from the game and from worrying about Dean. He doesn’t want to argue anymore, he doesn’t want to worry; all he wants to do is cuddle with Dean and sleep. They have four days before the next game, they got at least one to relax.

But he was to make sure first. “Promise me you’re fine?” Castiel’s voice is very small. It’s almost a breath. Like a prayer.

“Perfectly okay, sweetheart,” Dean says into his hair before kissing it. He feels Cas nod into him, and then just holds him close. Moments later, soft snoring is coming from the man in his arms and he laughs. He pushes his man’s hair back, and then cuddles close. Before he’s pulled under again, he has time to chuckle once at a memory of his Ma. “Angels are watching over you,” he thinks sleepily and gathers his angel up. They have at least one day to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I think i might need a beta for this?   
> Anyways, I would seriously appreciate the comments. I haven't written in a while and like I have a major writers block. If you have seen my Stony Hunger Games aU, i apologize for not updating. I'm trying to think about what to write next and how.  
> COMMENT! YEAH?


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